


The One That Matters

by Aurellyn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Brotherly Affection, Bullying, Christmas, Dave Doesn't Have Much, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Holidays, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Karkat Cries A Lot, Self-Worth Issues, Trauma, Vriska is a Bitch, highschool, kankri is a good brother, mild social anxiety, social ineptitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurellyn/pseuds/Aurellyn
Summary: You look up at the building looming over you with a scowl. So. This is high school. It’s intimidating because you know that these years are going to be the most important years of your life and you can’t afford to fuck it up the way you’re so prone to with everything else in your life.You spent all summer dreading this day, but you’ve got a game plan and you know exactly how you’re gonna do this. It’s simple, really.Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut.





	The One That Matters

**Author's Note:**

> I started this yesterday on 4/13, tried to get it done yesterday, but after eleven hours of writing about 10,000 words, I glanced at the time and noticed it was no longer 4/13. Haha, oh well. It's the effort that counts.
> 
> So, here you go! Have some angsty Karkat and Dave being a knight in shining armor.
> 
> I left this off where I did because I felt it was a good place to end it. I _might_ write a little sequel to this, but this whole thing was basically just an excuse to vomit feelings all over everybody. c: You're welcome.

You look up at the building looming over you with a scowl. So. This is high school. It’s intimidating because you know that these years are going to be the most important years of your life and you can’t afford to fuck it up the way you’re so prone to with everything else in your life.

You spent all summer dreading this day, but you’ve got a game plan and you know exactly how you’re gonna do this. It’s simple, really.

Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut.

You’ve got a history of bullying and it pains you to know that some of those asshole kids who tormented you all through middle school are going to be here. Maybe they’ll have forgotten about you over the summer?

Yeah, probably not. You always find yourself hoping, every year, but the Gods hate you.

That in mind, you squeeze the strap of your backpack, slung over one shoulder, and purposely turn your gaze down before you start to walk up the steps and into the nightmare you know this is going to be.

~~~

By some miracle, you manage to avoid trouble for a full week. That first week is spent constantly glancing over your shoulder, always on edge, always tense and alert and just waiting for it to begin.

But it never happened and you were stupid enough to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, the universe was giving you a break.

And then came Monday morning, where you walk into your new class-- you were re-assigned to a new teacher because the last one’s class was too large thanks to a computer error-- and step up to the teacher to ask where you sit.

Being the first person to class, you go to the seat the teacher, a kind, older woman, indicates, and you sit down and pull out a book to read. With no friends to hang out with beforehand, you always just head to your first period right away when you arrive at school.

The bell rings, but you don’t look up until you’re suddenly smacked rather hard on the back of the head and you hear a voice that you really, really wish you weren’t so familiar with.

“Heeey, Vantas!”

Your entire body tenses up, your fingers digging into the sides of your book as you grip it tightly, and you slowly lift your eyes. Sure enough, there she is. Vriska Serket, hugely popular no matter where she goes or what she does, and your most ruthless bully from middle school.

You told yourself you weren’t going to start shit this year, told yourself you were just going to shut up and make Vriska and her entourage as uninterested in you as possible, but your brain throws that notion out the window. Your eyebrows knit together, your lips fall into a scowl, and your gaze hardens into a glare.

_Don’t give her what she wants. Don’t rise to the bait. Don’t-_

“Fuck off, Serket,” you snap in your most aggressive, pissy tone possible.

_Damn it._

You’re at least grateful that the teacher left the room and isn’t here to witness this. Only every other student in your new class, some watching you in confusion and shock and surprise as you look at this bitch before you like you wish she was dead.

“Aww, but here I thought you would be happy to see me!” Vriska’s voice is carefully disguised to seem genuine, but you know her too well and you know she’s mocking you. “After all, we were _best friends_ in middle school.”

Is that supposed to be _funny_?

You continue to glare at her, your jaw clenching. You hate her so fucking much. You don’t want her to ruin high school for you the same way she ruined your childhood. You’ll do anything, _anything_ , just to get her to leave you alone.

“Leave me alone.” You half-yell at her, but really you’re just getting a little hysteric.

She reaches over and grabs your shoulder, squeezes it with enough pressure to be painful. “But don’t you remember all the _fun_ we used to have, _Karkitten_?”

Countless moments of agony flash before your eyes at the use of the nickname she made up for you when you were only seven, when she first started to pick on you. Every time she hit you, every time she mocked you and spit in your face, every time she turned someone against you.

You don’t realize you’ve punched her in the face until suddenly your arms are being held back and you blink out of your terror-induced rage. The teacher from before, who apparently chose that fucking moment to come back, is holding you back and away from Vriska. The bitch who absolutely deserved that punch has got a hand pressed over her nose, bright crimson leaking between her fingers, and she’s glaring at you in a way that screams ‘ _I’ll fucking kill you_ ’.

All eyes in the class are on you and you want to literally die.

~~~

You weren’t suspended or expelled, by some miracle, but the principal warned you that if there were any further outbursts that there would be consequences. You were too worked up to even try to defend yourself-- and when did it ever even help you before to tell an adult, anyway?-- so you just nodded weakly and left the office when you were dismissed.

You were instructed to head down to the guidance office to talk to a counselor and, even though you want to just go home and crawl under your bed and die, you find yourself numbly walking down there.

Talking to the counselor doesn’t do much, especially since you’re adamant on not telling the man anything because it’ll just give Vriska more fuel to belittle you with, and eventually he grows frustrated enough that he just dismisses you back to class. But by then first period is over and you’re free to head to your second class.

You can’t focus at all for the rest of the morning and come lunchtime you are in no way surprised when, as you’re trying to find a corner to seclude yourself from the rest of the population for just long enough to get your shit together, you’re cornered by none other than Vriska and every single one of her bully friends. All six of them.

They half-drag you out behind the school and proceed to beat the shit out of you.

~~~

Your vision is fuzzy and spinning when you get home not an hour after being beaten to near unconsciousness. You weren’t about to stick around at school after that, not when you’re covered in bruises, your face is a wreck, and you’re just praying that you don’t have any broken ribs.

You just want to tend to your split lip and bloody nose and cover up all the bruises that are starting to form before your brother gets home. You think it’s really, really depressing that you have a stash of makeup hidden in your closet for just this purpose. You had to steal most of the products you have, had to watch hours and hours of tutorials on the web to learn how to properly blend so that you could at least pretend like nothing’s wrong.

You wish it was easy to deny that your life isn’t fucked six ways to Sunday.

But, of fucking course, the universe still hates you because when you open the front door and start to limp upstairs, you hear your brother’s voice from the kitchen. “Karkat? Is that you?” You flinch and stumble on the steps, falling and cracking your knee off the wood. Great, and you were already limping on that leg. It’s all you can do not to swear in pain.

“What are you doing home? Classes cannot possibly be over yet. You should not leave school without permission from-” Kankri’s words cut off abruptly in a choked gasp as he comes around the corner and sees you halfway up the stairs.

You don’t meet his gaze. You hate it when he sees you like this. When your parents died four years ago-- not that they were ever even around for you before that anyway-- he was just old enough to obtain custody of you without any fight from the law. He became both your parental figure as much as your brother, and he took to it as seriously as he takes to anything. Which is to say he took it very seriously.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in this state, and it probably won’t be his last, but you always hate it anyway. He’s a good brother, or he tries to be, but he doesn’t know how to be a parent, doesn’t know how to even begin to help you. He’s too young and naive for that, even at twenty-two years of age.

Every time this happens, he acts strong and he tells you he’ll do anything to help, but then you hear him at night, crying and talking to his boyfriend about how he’s a failure of a guardian and an even greater failure of a brother.

You love him, even if he coddles you, and you hate to see him so distraught and tearing himself apart about it.

Not wanting to put that burden on him again, you try to pick yourself up and continue up the stairs on your own, but you make it only two more steps before suddenly Kankri’s at your side, grasping your arm so gentle because he doesn’t know everywhere you’re hurt.

You don’t have it in you to fight him as he leads you back down the stairs and to the couch in the living room. He sits you down without a word, disappears long enough to fetch towels, a first aid kit, and ice packs, and then he returns to you and sits on the coffee table before you.

It’s not until he grabs a cloth and starts to dab at your lower lip that he speaks. “What happened?”

Your head is still spinning and aching, and now you just want to break down and fucking cry because life always does this shit to you and you are _so tired of it_. But you don’t. Instead, you close your eyes to keep the tears at bay and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I got beat up, obviously,” you mutter bitterly in response, willing to tell him the basics because he’s your brother and he cares but not about to give him nightmare fuel.

“Vriska?” he asks knowingly, and you almost wince. You really regret ever telling him who your tormentor is. You were young at the time and didn’t really stop to think about the impact, but fuck if you don’t regret it now.

“Yeah,” you croak. “Her and six others.”

Kankri frowns deeply, taking the towel away to examine your lip more closely. “You should have gone for help,” he says, leaning back from you to grab another towel that he gets you to hold to your nose.

“And give her more of a reason to hate me. Great idea,” you snap half-heartedly, pressing the white towel to your nose. Ugh, why couldn’t it be a black towel? Now this one will be stained, a forever reminder of your agony.

“This will never stop if you don’t get help, Karkat,” Kankri tells you, and you can hear the worry in his voice. It hurts too much to hear, more than any physical wound, so you look away and just shake your head. You can’t face him, not knowing that you could get help. You could, but you’re too terrified of just making it worse.

You’ve tried reaching out before, and it never helped then so why would it now?

~~~

This is a cycle that continues for the next few months. Vriska makes your life a living Hell, other students avoid you because they think you’re going to flip your shit and hit them or drag them into the bullies’ radar, and your teachers don’t cut you any slack.

By the time winter break is approaching, you’ve already given up. Everything that’s happened in the last three months is more than you can bear emotionally. Your cuts and bruises might scar and heal, but you’re damaged on the inside in a way that you don’t know can be fixed.

It’s gotten to the point where you don’t even fight back against your tormentors. You do everything you can to stay out of their way, to stay hidden away from them, but they still sometimes catch you. They always try to heckle you into a fight, but you just don’t have the will to rise to any challenge anymore. You seriously wish they would get bored, but they just find your misery _funny_.

You count your blessings that you’re too scared of death and further suffering to do anything stupid, but you’re pretty sure in the past three months you’ve cried more than you have in the past three _years_. Crying is the only thing that makes it just a little better anymore, like when you do it lets out some of the misery you’ve more or less grown numb to.

You’re eager for Christmas break to hit, but not because of the holidays. You just want a break.

So it is on the last day of classes before Christmas that you wake up early, take at least an hour to cover and hide the bruises littering your body, some new and some fading, and spend at least another hour fucking praying to whatever God might exist to just let you have one day. Just _one_.

Then you head off to school.

And it’s this day that changes everything.

You manage to stay quiet and out of trouble until lunchtime. The moment the bell rings, you try to hurry out of the class and head for the library where you can just hide amongst the bookshelves. And you’re almost there when suddenly someone grabs your arm and starts to drag you down the nearest empty hallway.

You don’t even need to question what’s going on. It’s basically routine at this point. So you go through the internal process of shutting the fuck down because if you can’t think, if you can’t feel, then it won’t hurt as much.

Soon enough you’re outside in a hidden corner of the parking lot, and you’re surprised that Vriska isn’t present this time. But her thugs are and that’s still enough of a threat. You get more or less thrown into the brick wall of the school, and as you turn away from it there’s a fist flying at you and it catches you in the stomach, which is already incredibly sore from the last time they did this.

The pain is so nauseating that you actually double over and fall to your knees, wheezing to try and breathe past it. But this is always when it gets bad. The moment you’re off your feet is when you’re most vulnerable and they take advantage of that.

Your fingers curl into fists on the pavement beneath you, nails scraping the harsh surface with enough force that some of them crack. You wait for the first blow, but it doesn’t come. You don’t realize that you’ve been sitting hunched over for a long time until suddenly there’s a hand on your shoulder.

You flinch, expecting pain, but it’s a gentle touch and you find yourself lifting your head to look at whoever’s approached you.

“Hey, dude, are you okay?”

You find yourself staring up at a tall kid your age with soft-looking blond hair and a pair of big, black shades covering his eyes. His expression is hard to read with shades on, but his mouth is turned down into a scowl and you think he’s … concerned?

This is not one of Vriska’s goons.

You can’t answer him as much as you don’t know how to answer him. A million and one thoughts race through your head. Who is this kid? Where did the assholes go? Is that blood on the ground over there? Did this guy just fucking save you? Did someone seriously just stand up for you?

It’s a long, tense moment that you just stare at him, and by the time you realize you should say something, it’s too late and it just feels like it’ll be weird if you open your mouth. If the guy before you is bothered by your lack of response, he doesn’t show it, instead just turning his head slightly every few seconds. You wonder what he’s doing until it dawns on you that he’s looking to see if they’re coming back.

It’s then that you notice he’s got not a scratch on him. Did he … Did he take on four bullies all by himself and come out entirely unscathed?

You finally find it within you to move and you stumble and stagger to your feet, wincing as your muscles protest. Your savior-- you think that’s what he is, anyway-- finally takes his hand off your shoulder, but you immediately want him to put it back. It was incredibly grounding and helped you feel more real.

Real, because this just … it just can’t be. No one has ever stood up for you before. No one’s ever tried to help you. No deity has ever taken pity on you.

You give the boy before you a nod, grab your bag which you had dropped back at the start of this, and turn to walk away without a word, because even if this is real by some small, tiny chance, you don’t want to get anyone involved in your crap.

You don’t see the boy with blond hair and shades for the rest of the day.

~~~

Christmas break allows you to hole up in your room, and that’s exactly what you do for the first week. You occasionally hear a knock on the door downstairs, but it’s probably just Kankri’s boyfriend so you don’t think much of it.

Instead, you’ve got your mind on what happened eight days ago. You were saved by some complete stranger. When you never ended up ‘waking up’, it really occurred to you that what had happened really was real, and you had immediately felt like such an asshole for just walking away without even thanking the guy.

Not that it matters, since he probably hates you now, too. And even if he doesn’t, Vriska will surely sway his opinion sooner rather than later.

You try to forget about him, to think about anything else, but then you just find yourself every now and then absently reaching up to touch your shoulder where he laid his hand, and for the first time in months you realize you _feel_ something that isn’t pain.

It’s warm and bright, even if it’s but a spec in the shadows, and you don’t dare call it by name.

Not when the chances are that it won’t matter anyway.

On the eighth day of vacation, when your battered body is starting to look normal again and most of your bruises have faded away, you finally dare to venture out of your room. You don’t need to spend hours covering them up, because at this point Kankri knows about them and they’re almost gone anyway.

It’s early for you when you step out into the hallway, just eight-thirty in the morning, but you haven’t even slept yet. Insomnia that not even Kankri knows about is a bitch. You walk down the hallway and then the stairs on light footsteps that hardly make a sound, heading for the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You’d expected Kankri to be asleep at this hour, but when you step into the kitchen you find him sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. He’s zoned out, staring into space with his hands around his coffee mug that you’re sure is probably cold.

“Why are you up so early?” you ask him as you continue to the cupboard to grab a glass.

Kankri jumps a bit, not having noticed you despite staring right in your general direction, but he quickly settles again. “Oh, Karkat, hello,” he says in greeting. “I was wondering if you were going to spend the entire vacation in your room.”

You shrug as you fill your glass. “Do you see any friends for me to spend time with?” you retort, maybe a little more bitterly than you meant to.

He sighs and shakes his head, then decides to answer your first question. “I’m awake in case that boy comes back.” He says. That just confuses you.

“What the Hell are you talking about?”

Kankri looks at you in a way you think might be an apology, or guilt. “I didn’t want to alarm you so I didn’t tell you, but there’s been some boy coming by every morning asking for you.”

You tense up. Have your tormentors finally discovered where you live? Are you no longer safe even at home? God, you fucking hope not. This is the last sanctuary you have!

“Who is it?” you ask, voice coming out strained.

“I don’t know,” Kankri replies with a shake of his head. “He never gave me his name, and I never asked.” Your brother turns to you, abandoning his cup on the table to give you a very serious look. “I don’t know if he’s one of the ones hurting you, but if he is I will not hesitate to get a restraining order.”

You think for a moment, try to breathe and not panic. While something like that would keep the kid away from you, it won’t do anything for the rest of the bullies who antagonize you. And even then, you’re not sure if Kankri would even actually follow through with getting a restraining order.

“Well, what does he look like?” you dare to ask in a quiet voice, since you could probably identify any of the kids who wreck you by the way Kankri describes people.

He opens his mouth to respond right away, but he doesn’t get a single word out when there’s a soft knock on the front door. Kankri shakes his head, gets to his feet, and orders you to stay in the kitchen where you can’t be seen, then he heads out to the front door.

You hear the door open, waiting to hear insults or harsh yelling, but whoever is there speaks smooth and quiet. There’s the old saying that curiosity killed the cat, but you still step closer to the doorway until you can hear them talking, even though you missed the first few exchanges.

“... Look, I know what you probably think but it’s not like that-” The person says. The voice is vaguely familiar?

“Forgive my interruption, but I can assure you that I know enough.” Kankri cuts him off in his polite-but-not-taking-any-shit tone of voice.

There’s a silence, and then the stranger at the door sighs. “Fine, just … Can you tell me how he’s doing at least?” You recognize that voice, but you go through the catalog in your head and it’s not any of the assholes who beat you up on a daily basis. Who …?

“Why do you want to know?” Kankri asks suspiciously, and it’s right at that moment that you decide to carefully peer around the corner to see who it is at the door.

Your heart does a Goddamn pirouette off of a cliff when you see the figure standing out in the cold, wearing only a bright red hoodie with a gear symbol on it. It’s him. It’s the guy who saved you.

How the fuck does he know where you live?

Before the boy on the front step can formulate a response to Kankri’s previous question, you step out from behind the wall and approach them in rushed steps. “Kankri, wait, it’s okay,” you exclaim as you-- gently-- push him away from the door to stop him blocking it.

The look your brother gives you practically screams concern. “Karkat, I know you might be experiencing a bit of Stockholm Syndrome and you may be tempted to defend those who hurt you--”

You cut him off before he can even continue on that tangent. “No, shut up! It’s not- That’s-” You make a sound out of pure frustration. “This guy’s never hurt me!”

Your brother looks at you skeptically, but your face must say something your words don’t convey because he purses his lips, takes a deep breath, and then turns to the door. “You can come in.” He tells the boy you think might honest to God be a guardian angel.

The kid doesn’t seem phased at all by the odd interaction between you and Kankri, just stepping inside. Kankri closes the door behind him and then motions to the couch across the living room. “Please, feel free to sit. I think perhaps you may need to talk.” He says to the both of you, then turns and walks away back to the kitchen. You don’t doubt for a second that he’s listening intently, but you don’t care as you just turn to the guy in the hoodie and frown.

“Who _are_ you?” you ask him, because you need to know.

He gives you a friendly little grin and pulls a hand out of his pocket, holding it out in a fist. For a second you think he’s going to punch you, and you flinch, but he just holds his hand in the air and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize he wants you to fistbump him.

You do so tentatively, in awe and still so confused and curious, and he says, “Dave Strider.”

“Uh … Karkat,” you offer, then add as an afterthought, “Vantas.”

“I know, dude.” He says, and that’s just another mystery for you.

You motion to the sneakers he’s wearing-- why the fuck is he wearing sneakers in the middle of winter?-- and say, “take your shoes off, I guess, and come sit down.”

He hesitates for a second, but then just kicks his shoes off and walks after you in socked feet when you lead him to the nearest couch. He sits down only when you do, and you cross your arms and lean back, keeping your head faced forward despite your eyes turning to glance at him.

“How did you know where I live?” you need to know if others might know too, but mostly you just want to figure out Dave’s angle. He seems friendly, he saved you once, and he’s made an effort to apparently see if you’re okay, so maybe he wants to … be friends?

You’ve never had a friend, and that emotion you still refuse to call by name makes your chest feel tight for a moment until he responds.

“There’s this dude I know,” he says, “or, well, dudette, and she told me your name. I guess you’re really well-known at school? Shit, man, I hardly had to describe you before she told me your name.”

Before he can go on, you blurt out, “was it Vriska?” You pretend that you don’t sound absolutely petrified of the idea.

He frowns at you. “Who the Hell is that?” he asks. “I was only actually in class for a week before the holidays started. Just moved here with my bro.”

Oh, well that sort of explains why he even bothered to stop to help you. He hasn’t been corrupted by Vriska yet. Apparently he doesn’t even know her. You try not to feel an awful lurching in your gut as you think that it’s only a matter of time.

“Who gave you my name, then?” you ask, and your voice is really quiet.

He looks at you for a long moment before responding, “a friend of mine. Nepeta. She’s really pretty chill, real artsy and cute and I guess she loves cats, too? Anyway, she sounded awful fond of you when she spoke of you. I assumed she knew you?”

You shake your head. You’ve never heard of this girl’s name before now.

You see one pale eyebrow raise above his shades. “Really? Huh, well, she gave me your name and then sent me to some crazy hacker guy who did some wicked internet bullshit and gave me your address.”

You have no idea who he’s talking about, but you’re mildly concerned by the fact that someone found your address on the internet. You don’t comment on it, though, as you instead nod a bit. “And you’re here because …?” you press him, finally turning your head to properly look at him.

He stares at you, or you think he does, it’s hard to tell with the shades, and he sounds like he’s being really careful with his words when he tells you, “well, dude, the last and first time I saw you, you were cornered and being used as a Goddamn punching bag.” You flinch at his bluntness, but he doesn’t sound condescending at all. “And you didn’t say anything and just walked away when I stepped in so … I think that gives me a reason to at least make sure you’re okay.”

You don’t know how to feel, don’t know what to say. He … really worried about you. A complete stranger with nothing but your name was worried for your wellbeing and safety, enough that he went to serious measures to find where you live and come here every day for four fucking days just to find out if you’re okay.

It hurts you in a way that nothing else _ever_ has.

You don’t know what to tell him. He wants to know if you’re going to be alright, but you don’t need to even think about that answer because you’re _not_ alright. You don’t think you ever have been.

You’ve never had the support system that a victim of vicious bullying needs. You’ve never had friends, never had competent parents, never had someone to talk to, never had anyone to look out for you or anyone to care.

You’re not okay.

But you can’t tell Dave that. He’s the first person to ever show you any form of genuine kindness and interest, and you refuse to scare him away with your demons. You swallow thickly, and you know he sees, and say, “yeah, I’m okay.”

He nods, slowly, and you think that he doesn’t believe you, but at least he doesn’t press the matter.

~~~

After that day, you expected to never see Dave again. He got his answer, you told him you’re fine, so he’ll probably just leave you alone and never speak to you again.

But you are proven wrong when he shows up the very next day and asks you if you want to hang out. You just stare at him like a complete moron in disbelief, but you find the courage to agree and you invite him inside again.

You find out that day that he loves video games. Or rather, he loves to _break_ video games. Apparently it’s a thing he does with his bro, who he had next to nothing to say about when you questioned him, where they try to find as many ways as possible to break the coding and AI of whatever shitty game they’re playing.

He visits you again a few days later, just when you’re starting to believe that he’s done with you, and you find out that he spends a lot of time online just chatting to his friends, who you also find out he has a lot of despite only just moving to town before the break. He gets you to create a handle for this chat program called ‘pesterchum’ so that he can message you and you can talk when he’s not at your place with you.

You smile a small, weary smile at nothing for hours after he leaves that day because he _wants_ to talk to you.

By the time it’s a few days before Christmas, you’re fairly certain that you’ve made your first friend. By some fucking brilliant, beautiful miracle, the Gods answered your prayers and you honestly can’t doubt their existence anymore. Religion is too complicated and you don’t want to dive into it, but you seriously can’t thank the divines enough.

Even Kankri’s warmed up to Dave and seems to like him.

Really, thank the fucking Gods.

~~~

It’s the day before Christmas and you’re sitting on your bed with Dave, the two of you playing a shooter game on your old XBox, thanks mostly to Kankri who got you an extra controller as an early Christmas gift but refused to allow you to open the rest of your gifts until the big day.

You’re horrible at shooter games, but you don’t care at all because you’re still just floored every time you realize that Dave _likes_ you enough to willingly want to spend time with you. You put up an emotionless or angry mask for the world but on the inside you just couldn’t be more … relieved.

Dave nudges you with an elbow when he gets another kill against you. “Damn dude, I’ve said it before but you suck at this game,” he says. “Seriously, if you could win an award for being the worst at something, you would win it.”

There’s always a split second where you think he’s really insulting you, but then you remember that he just talks like this and you realize he’s just playing around. At least, you hope so. He even warned you himself in his own smooth way that he can come across as kind of a dick but that he’d truly tell you if he was really pissed at you.

You grab your pillow beside you, smacking him with it. “Fuck off! I’m not even trying!”

“Language!” Kankri calls from downstairs.

You grumble but don’t apologize.

It feels so fucking good to be yourself again, even if you know that that’s all going to change when school starts back up. It just … it’s such a relief that you can allow yourself to _feel_ when you’re around Dave. You can be your normal, shouty, grumpy self and you’re starting to think that Dave doesn’t just not care, but he _likes_ that about you.

Even if it’s just temporary and in the safety of your own home, you’re so happy to be able to be who you really are and have someone like you for you.

It occurs to you sometimes, as a dark, dark thought lurking in the back of your head, that you would be truly devastated if Dave ever stops being your friend, and that it would destroy you if he turned around and went to Vriska’s side. You try not to think about it.

Dave sets down his controller, leaning back against the wall you’re both sitting with your backs to. “So, dude, I know it’s like a huge fucking can of worms or whatever and I’m all for keeping that shit sealed up tight if you really don’t want to talk about it, but, how long has this been going on?”

You look at him in confusion, but a part of you shrivels up because you have a guess at what he’s talking about. “What?” You ask, your voice unusually tight.

“You know,” he says, and waves a hand. “The bullying.”

You look down and away, biting the inside of your lip. You shouldn’t tell him, shouldn’t make him realize how fucking damaged you really are, but he’s your first and only friend and you have been aching for _years_ to have someone to confide in.

It’s a horrible idea to talk to him about any of this, but he wants to know and you’re so desperate to just talk to someone about it that you can’t stop yourself when you answer, “since I was seven.”

Dave’s expression twists only slightly into a frown, and you see his eyebrows scrunch together behind his shades. For a horrible, sickening moment you think he’s realized how much of a fucking disaster you are, but before you can work yourself up into a panic he says, “shit, dude, I’m sorry.”

_I’m sorry._

Those two words ring in your ears and you hold your breath.

Nobody has _ever_ said that to you. Nobody has ever looked at you with sympathy like that, with the sympathy of a friend instead of the cold pity of an outsider who has no idea what’s going on. Nobody has ever cared.

But Dave does.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Dave’s hands are suddenly on your arms and shoulders. “Fuck, dude, no, don’t cry. Shit, I didn’t mean it. I-” He’s rambling, but you reach up and wipe at your eyes and shake your head.

“No, shut up, it’s okay,” you tell him, stopping him before he can worry too much-- it makes your heart ache that he _worries_ about you. “Just … no one’s ever said that before.”

Dave stares at you, but he’s still got his hands on your arms and you’re not about to push him away. You didn’t realize you were missing this kind of contact until Dave started giving it to you, but now you understand that you’ve been starved of it for your whole life.

“Really?” he finally asks. “None of your friends have ever said anything to you? Wow, they must be shitty friends to have not done anything about-”

“I’ve never had a friend,” you practically whisper, but he’s right there so he hears you.

A pained look crosses his face for a brief moment, but then it’s gone and he’s just … sitting there facing you. And then, for the first time since you’ve met him, he reaches up and takes off his shades so he can look at you with bright, deep brown eyes that you have never been more captivated by.

“You know I’m your friend,” he says, each word clear and carrying a weight that almost burdens you to hear, “right?”

The air is so heavy and charged all of a sudden and it feels tense, but not in the way you’re used to when things get serious. You’re used to the sharp jolt of fear, the anger that’s red-hot and almost too much to handle, the loneliness that eats at you like a rabid wolf, but this is nothing like that.

It’s serious in a way that somehow, deep down, you know that if you break down into sobs Dave’s just going to hold you. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to ruin your life.

He wants to save it.

Your eyes fill with tears again and you reach up to rub furiously at them with the sleeve of your shirt. Fuck, you have got to stop crying in front of Dave. He’s going to think you’re a fucking toddler.

“Yeah,” is your answer when you can finally summon up the will to speak, “yeah, Dave, I know.”

He nods, and you expect him to put his shades back on but he doesn’t. Instead he just keeps one hand on you, slides it to rub gently at your back since you’re not leaning against the wall like he is, and he asks, “do you want to talk about it?”

You consider it. You really do. Part of you wants to lay down and weep and spill everything that’s happened to you in the last eight years, because you know that Dave won’t judge you. You believe it in your heart of hearts that Dave won’t take off when he sees that dark, broken part of you.

But you already feel weary enough and your mind feels heavy and you honestly just kind of want to sit down in silence for a while and think. So you shake your head. “Not right now,” you tell him. “Maybe not ever, I dunno. But … not now.”

For a moment you worry he’s going to get angry at you for refusing, but he just nods in understanding and you hate that you’re always so scared of messing up with him. He cares, you know he does, but a small, pessimistic piece of you just keeps whispering, ‘ _how long until that changes?_ ’.

He doesn’t break the easy, comfortable silence that settles between you, just sits there with his hand moving in small circles on your back while you dive deep into your thoughts and allow yourself to drown in them.

Eventually you blink back to reality, though, and you glance at the clock and notice that it’s already nearing nine at night. You sigh a little, looking over at Dave. “I guess you gotta go soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he answers, but then shrugs. “I got a little bit longer though.”

You nod and lean against the wall beside him when he takes his hand off your back. “What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?” You ask him, trying to lighten the mood a little.

He shrugs again. “Bro and I don’t celebrate it. Not that we’re, like, anti-Christmas or anything. It’s just not something we ever put the effort into before. We usually just order takeout from whatever place happens to be open and watch movies all day.”

You frown a little. That sounds … awful. From the small tidbits you’ve gotten from Dave about his home life, you understand that he lives very casually and that he has a very strange, distant relationship with his ‘bro’, who is his father but prefers to be called Bro.

Without even thinking, you open your mouth. “You should come spend Christmas with us tomorrow,” you tell him, dead serious. His head practically whips up to look at you, since he’d been staring straight ahead, and when his eyes meet yours you suddenly know why he wears shades. Without them, he’s an open book and you think that, maybe, he hates being that vulnerable.

The look of shock and incredulity he gives you makes you flash him a nervous smile. Was it too weird of you to ask that of him? His eyes search yours, and when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for he says, “Karkat, bro, are you serious?”

“Yeah,” you answer easily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Isn’t it kind of a really personal family day or some shit?”

You chuckle a bit. “Christmas hasn’t been a fucking family affair since I was ten.” Well, that’s not exactly true. Kankri still always gets you presents for Christmas, and your birthday for that matter, still makes a huge turkey dinner and invites his boyfriend over, It’s the closest to a normal day you have during the year, when it really feels like family.

“Kankri makes turkey,” you go on to tell him when he stays quiet and looks apprehensive and thoughtful. “We open presents, watch dumb Christmas movies, drink a lot of hot chocolate and eggnog, have a huge dinner and sometimes Cronus-- that’s my brother’s boyfriend-- brings over some kind of alcohol and we drink.” You cut off to take a breath, looking down at your hands as you fiddle with your fingers. “And you said you don’t celebrate with your bro, so … it’d be cool to have you over.”

After another long pause, Dave finally says, “you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You really want him to say yes. You want to share such a warm-hearted, good day with your new friend. Your only friend. Your first friend.

The smile Dave gives you lights up his entire face and makes his eyes look so warm. You’ve seen him give you small grins, the tiniest of smiles, but this just blows all of those times out of the park.

“Sure, dude. I’ll come over tomorrow.”

~~~

You somehow manage to catch some sleep that night, even if just a little bit, and when you wake up it’s to excited messages from Dave asking when you want him over. You’re still half-asleep and groggy when you answer to tell him he’s free to come whenever he wants, but you get up because you have a suspicion that it won’t be long before he shows up.

You had asked Kankri yesterday after Dave left if it would be okay, and your brother had just smiled at you and told you that you didn’t even need to ask. It’s nice to see him smile like that and look so worry-free. He’s always taken care of you and he’s always been so serious and paranoid that you’re glad to see that he looks happy too.

You get ready for the day, shower, brush your teeth, put on clean clothes and an absolutely tacky Christmas sweater you’ve had since you were eight when Kankri got it for you-- it was hugely oversized then but he told you it was because you’d grow into it-- and you go down to the kitchen.

It’s ten in the morning, and already Kankri’s awake and starting to get everything prepared.

“Hey,” you say in greeting to him as you go over to the tray on the counter. Kankri always makes cinnamon rolls first thing Christmas day, and it’s a tradition you hope he never stops. You grab one of the sticky rolls, not even caring that it’s going to make your fingers a mess, and you bite into it. It’s still warm.

“Good morning, Karkat,” Kankri says warmly in greeting. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks,” you reply after swallowing your first bite of sugary, sweet, cinnamon goodness. “You too.”

Your brother smiles at you, then returns to chopping vegetables. “Cronus will be here around noon,” he offers while you stand leaning against the counter and eat your breakfast. Kankri would usually never allow such a horribly unhealthy start to the day, but it’s Christmas and he makes an exception.

“Okay. Dave’ll probably be here soon.” There’s a knocking on the door just as you finish speaking. “Or now, I guess.” You walk from the room with the rest of your roll, going to the door and opening it.

Sure enough, Dave is standing there when you answer it. You let him in in a hurry. “Hey,” you greet him, stuffing the last of your breakfast into your mouth. By the time you swallow, your friend has kicked off his shoes. “There’s cinnamon rolls if you want one.”

He looks at you like you’ve grown a third head-- you realize suddenly that he’s not wearing his shades again but don’t comment-- and says, “dude, I would have to be fucking dead inside not to want a cinnamon roll.”

You grin at him and head to the kitchen with him.

“Sup, Kankri?” Dave offers your older brother as he snags one of the pastries off the tray. Kankri just gives him an amused look.

“I’m getting started on dinner,” he states matter of factly. “Turkeys have to cook for an unreasonably long time.” He waves a hand in a shooing motion. “Don’t you worry about it. You two head to the living room to watch movies.”

You don’t hesitate to drag Dave by the arm out to the living room.

The afternoon is spent watching terrible holiday-themed movies you’ve seen a thousand times. Dave actually hasn’t seen some of them, and you guess that it’s probably because of how he doesn’t celebrate the holidays with his bro. You’re not sure how to feel about Dave’s bro, but so far he sounds kind of shitty.

You and Kankri introduce Dave and Cronus to each other when your brother’s boyfriend shows up. Cronus wastes no time in ruffling your hair affectionately, and he’s pleasant enough with Dave, which is a surprise because you’ve heard the way he talks and you know about the things the two of them sometimes get up to when they think you’re asleep.

You drink so much hot chocolate that afternoon that by the time dinner rolls around, you can’t eat much. Not that you mind, since leftovers are pretty great. It’s a warm, light-hearted meal that you realize later on is probably one of the best ones you’ve ever had. You think it’s probably because Dave was there, chatting with Kankri about how he already knows what he wants to do for a career-- turns out he loves photography-- and joking around with Cronus.

It’s a really great day, but you’re hit with guilt when, after dinner, it’s time to open presents.

While Kankri’s fetching them from their hiding place, Dave leans over towards you from his spot next to you on the floor in front of the tree. “Why are you opening gifts so late in the day? Don’t most people open them in the morning?”

It’s Cronus who answers him from the couch where he’s sipping on some kind of alcoholic beverage. “We used to, ‘til two years ago when Karkat ate too much candy and spent most of the day with an upset stomach and Kanny vowed to never again let him get into his gifts ‘til after dinner.”

You cross your arms and huff. “One time.” You say. “One fucking time.”

Cronus rolls his eyes and chuckles. “One time’s all it takes with Kanny, kiddo.”

You’re about to make some snarky, perhaps inappropriate joke but promptly swallow your words when Kankri returns with an armfull of gifts. You glance at Dave, feeling your guilt triple. You hadn’t known until last minute that he would be joining you today, so you didn’t have time to get him a gift. Regardless of that, he’s your friend and you should have gotten him something anyway.

You’re terrible.

Before you can say anything, though, Kankri sets all the gifts down and hurriedly places a fairly large, wrapped box in your hands. You glance down at it and … just stare.

You feel like the worst person in existence. You can’t just open your gifts in front of Dave, while he gets nothing. You lift your eyes to him, about to apologize for being a terrible friend, but you lose your words when she see the way he’s looking at you.

You’re half-expecting him to look sad, or jealous even, but he’s just eagerly waiting for you to open the present. And that makes you heart ache. He doesn’t care that he’s getting nothing. He’s just happy to see you _do_ get things.

You feel your eyes start to tear up but you are not about to cry in front of Kankri and Cronus over something so stupid so you turn your gaze to the box instead and start to rip the wrapping paper off rather robotically.

By the time you’ve opened all the gifts-- and watched a hilarious exchange between Kankri and Cronus when your brother opened his gift from his boyfriend, practically shrieked in distress and vaulted off the couch to hide what you guess was probably something inappropriate-- you’ve got a pretty big pile of books, a new phone, a big, fluffy blanket, some video games, and a huge mountain of sweets.

You’re having a hard time not feeling guilty as fuck about Dave not getting anything that it makes it hard to enjoy the rest of the evening. Eventually, Kankri offers Dave to stay the night and he agrees, and since you have more time to hang out than you thought you would, you and Dave head up to your room to relax and watch a non-holiday-themed movie.

It’s as you’re lying on your belly on your bed beside your friend, your new blanket draped over the two of you, frowning in the general direction of the television but not really watching the movie playing on it, that a thought occurs to you. You got a new phone, which means you now have a spare old one in pretty decent condition that will probably just sit in a box somewhere and collect dust. And Dave didn’t get a gift from you …

You try to act casual as you turn to him. “Hey, Dave?”

He hums a bit in response, eyes not leaving the TV, before answering with a “sup, dude?”

God, he’s such a good friend. He doesn’t expect anything of you, doesn’t care that he just watched you get a whole bunch of new things, is content to just hang out and watch movies with you all night.

You’ve really grown attached to him.

“I was just thinking about that phone I got,” you say, pulling something out of your ass, “and I was wondering if I could have your number?”

He scoffs but doesn’t look at you still. “I’d give you my number in a flash, dude, but I don’t have a phone.” You see the small twitch of a scowl that his lips make, and suddenly you wonder what Dave _does_ have. He’s never worn boots for as long as you’ve known him, despite it being the middle of winter and there being snow everywhere outside, he’s never worn more than a hoodie, he doesn’t have a phone and you’ve never seen him with any form of handheld game console.

Does his bro really not take care of him at all?

“Oh.” You say, quietly, because you’re not sure what else to say.

You are definitely giving him your old phone now.

You pretend to go back to watching the movie, wait a good twenty minutes, then get up and tell him you need to talk to Kankri and that you’ll be right back. You feel his eyes follow you all the way out of the room and you really just want to go back and sit by him again.

But this is going to be worth it.

You go downstairs to where you find Kankri and Cronus curled up on the couch, watching some horror movie now that the festivities are over. You go over and tap your brother on the shoulder, waiting until he looks up at you with a groggy, sleepy expression.

“Is everything alright, Karkat?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him with a nod, “but I was just wondering … can I give Dave my old phone? I’m not going to use it and he doesn’t have one and I didn’t get him a gift, and-” You start to ramble but your brother reaches over and pats your arm to stop you.

“Of course you can.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Thanks,” you say with a nod, go to grab your old phone from where you’d last left it in the kitchen on the counter, and then you practically race back upstairs, slowing to a casual walk when you return to your room.

“Dude, you missed the best part of the movie,” Dave tells you, reaching over and whacking your leg when you sit next to him.

“Oh, what a tragedy,” you say sarcastically, moving to stretch out beside him again. You’ve got the phone in your sweater pocket, and you wait until Dave turns back to the movie to fish the device out.

And then you get nervous. What if he hates it? What if he thinks it’s rude of you to offer him your hand-me-down phone? You swallow against your worries. No. You’re going to give Dave the only gift you can give him and he’s your friend, so he should like it. Hopefully.

You hurriedly reach over and set the phone on the bed between Dave’s arms, since he’s got his head propped up on both hands with his elbows on the blankets. He looks down at it when you take your hand back, then looks at you in confusion.

He doesn’t have to ask, because you look away awkwardly and say, “I know it’s not the best fucking gift and I’m a terrible person for not getting you something proper-”

“Wait, what?” Dave cuts you off. You can’t meet his gaze. “Karkat- What- Bro, are you giving this to me?”

“Uh …” You glance at him just long enough to nod. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

He doesn’t say anything. Shit, he’s mad. Fuck, no, fix it. _Fix it, Karkat!_ You don’t look at him as you keep talking in a rush. “I should have remembered to get you something, Dave. Fuck, sorry, I’m not used to this shit and I get it if you’re mad and-”

“Dude,” Dave says, and you flinch despite his quiet, breathy tone. “Dude,” he just says again, and you dare to glance at him only to find that he’s holding the phone in shaking hands and looking at it like you just gave him a guide to the secrets of the universe. You’re … confused.

He’s not upset?

“ _Karkat_ ,” Dave says, and the way he says your name makes your heart do a weird flip-flop. He said it so reverently, so adoringly, in a way nobody has ever spoken to you. It makes that warm feeling you’re becoming more familiar with rise in your chest and make you feel light and good.

And then, just as you’re trying to work out what to say, Dave looks at you with honest to God affection in his eyes that stops your breathing. “This is the best gift I’ve ever fucking gotten.” And he reaches an arm over and hugs you and you feel tears sting your eyes.

It feels so good to get a hug from Dave. You’ve gotten hugs from your brother before, but this is different. This is respect and affection that you’ve always wanted even without knowing it. This is the type of feeling that makes your emotions scramble and you don’t know what to do about it.

So you just smile and blink back tears. “You’re welcome.” You tell him, leaning over into the one-armed hug a bit. “You’ll have to erase it, since it’s still got all my shit on it, but it’s yours and you can do what you want with it. Use it, pawn it, throw it in the river, I don’t care.”

“This is the most precious gift, Karkat,” Dave says in his tone that’s both serious and playful. “I would be a Godless heathen if I just tossed away such a treasure, man. I would literally dissolve into scum and stick to people’s shoes.”

You laugh at that and reach over to shove him.

The next few hours are spent with you helping him set up the phone for him, showing him some of your favorite apps and getting the mobile version of pesterchum. He’s addicted to the device immediately, and he’s basically glued to it up until he tells you he’s too tired to stay awake any longer at about three in the morning.

You show him to the guest bedroom, and as you’re about to leave to let him sleep, he stops you by grabbing your arm. “Oh, right, hold up, dude,” he says, then fishes into his hoodie’s pocket and pulls out an envelope. He looks rather sheepish as he gives you a nervous smile and holds it out towards you.

You take it from him, raising a brow, and open it up without hesitation. Inside is a single piece of paper with … a list of a bunch of different pesterchum handles? You narrow your eyes on them in confusion. “What is this?” you ask him as you read over the list.

“Uh, well,” Dave sounds heaps of awkward as he tries to find the right words, “I was thinking about how you said that I’m your only friend, and I guess I just thought that maybe you’d be down for making more?”

When you look up at him, he’s scratching at the back of his head, looking nervous like he thinks you’re going to be offended by this.

Holy shit, you could not have asked for a better friend. Dave cares about you to the point of wanting to help you expand your social circle. He’s not embarrassed about being your friend, wants you to meet _his_ friends.

After such an already emotionally taxing day, you can’t stop the tears for the life of you and you let out a small little sob that you immediately try to cover your mouth to stop. Dave’s head whips up and he looks like someone didn’t just kick his puppy but outright fucking murdered it.

“Oh fuck,” he says, going into panic mode just like he did the last time he thought he upset you, “Karkat, dude, shit, I didn’t mean to assume! I really just thought-”

You shut him up by lurching forward and throwing your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. For a moment he just stands there, and when his arms lift to return the hug you can feel that he’s uncertain, that he’s not sure if you’re okay.

“Fucking Christ,” you sob into his shoulder, “I don’t deserve you.”

“What?” Dave’s grip on you tightens somewhat, and it’s the best feeling in the world. “Man, what the Hell? Why?”

You shake your head, not about to explain the hurricane that is your horrendously dismal sense of self-esteem and self-worth. You just hold onto him, keep your face pressed into his shoulder, and work instead on not full on bawling.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to regain control of yourself, but Dave just holds you the entire time, just like you knew he would. When you eventually release him and take a step back and out of his arms, wipe your eyes on your sleeve and sniffle, you flash him an exhausted smile.

“Thanks, Dave,” you say, and you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so sincere about anything in your entire life. “Really.”

“Yeah, dude, of course.” Your friend replies, then tentatively asks, “you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you really do feel fine. You really do mean it.

For the first time since you were just a kid, you think that you’re going to be okay. Your life is turning around at last, at least you hope so, and you think that in Dave you’ve made a lifelong friend.

You don’t know what possessed him to step up and defend you that day, because no one in their right mind would, but you can’t be more grateful that he did. You were headed down a dark, gloomy road, and you can’t say for certain that your life would have gone anywhere. You’re still paranoid, you’re still traumatized and you’re terrified of what might happen when Christmas break is over, but … somehow you have faith that Dave will be with you through it all.

So, when he shifts from foot to foot and reaches out to gently touch your shoulder and asks, “do you want to talk about it?”, you hardly even have to think about your answer.

You nod a bit, because even if just yesterday you were unsure of yourself, too afraid to put your drama on him, after today you can’t help but feel like he would be _happy_ to help you in any way he can.

“Yeah,” you answer, feeling your heart practically leap to your throat. “Yeah, I would like that.”


End file.
